loose! The air was fairly split by blood-curdling shrieks, and the
horse, terrified in turn, leaped forward, tearing Zeb from the grasp
of the Indian and almost unseating Dan by the jerk. But Dan dug his
knees into the horse's sides, flung his arms about her neck, and,
holding on for dear life, tore away up the trail with Zeb clinging
like a limpet to his waist.

Never was a ride like that. Even John Gilpin's was a mild performance
beside it, for Zeb shrieked every minute of the way as they sped
along, with the horse's tail streaming out behind like the tail of a
comet, and the daylight showing between the bouncing boys and Penny's
back at every wild leap. Even if Daniel had not been minded to obey
his father's command, he could not have helped himself, for Penny took
matters into her own four hoofs, and never paused in her wild career
until, covered with foam, she dashed madly into a little hamlet where
the village of Neponset now stands.

Samuel Kittredge was just starting for the forest with his axe on his
shoulder, when his ears were smitten by the frantic shrieks of Zeb,
and, thinking it must be a wildcat on the edge of the clearing,
he started back to the house for his gun. Before he reached it,
Penitence, with the two boys on her back, came thundering toward him
at full gallop, and stopped at his side.

"What in tarnation is the matter with ye?" he exclaimed, gazing in
amazement at the strange apparition. "I declare for it, that nigger is
all but scared plumb white! What ails ye?"

"Indians!" gasped Dan, pointing toward the trail. "My father--quick!"
No more words were needed. Samuel Kittredge dashed into his house,
snatched his gun from the chimney, and, dashing out again, fired it
into the air. Poor Zeb! He slid off over the horse's tail on to the
ground and lay there in a heap, while a knot of men, responding to the
signal of Sam Kittredge's gun, gathered hurriedly before his house and
started at once down the trail.

"You stay here," said Sam to Dan as he started away. "We 'll be back
soon with your father if the pesky red-skins have n't got him."

"Or if they have," added another man grimly, and off they went.

Goodwife Kittredge now took charge of Dan and Zeb, while her son, a
boy of eleven, tied Penny to a tree beside their cabin. Zeb recovered
at once when she offered him a generous slice of brown-bread, but
Dan was too anxious about his father to eat. He stood beside Penny,
rubbing her neck and s